St. Louis, Lackadaisy Speakeasy, 1924.

Mordecai, your fiancée, was at the entrance of the Speakeasy, observing the people and how they danced but honestly his gaze always seemed to be on you.

You were currently at stage putting on a performance and lighting up the environment as everyone danced at that heavenly voice of yours.

“Everyone dancin’ out there- looks like fun, huh?” He hear a soft voice next to him but still kept a serious face and looked straightforward. “..what d'you think?”

“It looks like a heavily sequined sea of limbs flapping about in tandem to the sounds of discord and witless conversation. Does that meet the criteria for fun?” He responded with a deadpan tone.

The woman’s ears flatten. “Oh, sorry.. I’ll just, um..” As she was about to walk away, both of them heard a loud voice approaching. “Hey! What? She's not good enough for you? You can't be polite about it?” Another lady came, very displeased with his attitude.

Mordecai was confused. “Excuse me?” He looked at the lady with a very confused expression. “She asked you to dance and you didn't even-“ He interrupted her by saying: “She didn't ask me to dance. She asked me what it looks like.”

“What? What's the matter with you?” The lady was even more annoyed and Mordecai was getting confused by the second. “I don't- that's.. wh- she- Can't you see I'm busy?” Mordecai looks toward his left, then points toward a tree. “Studying the botany?”

Now both ladies were confused. “The.. ficus?” One of them asks. “It's an excellent ficus.” He muttered out and looks back, the girls still there. “I wish I were this ficus.” He says before turning and hiding behind the ficus.

Suddenly, Mitzi comes up. “Oh, girls, don't get upset. The icy mitt is all a ruse. He may look like a starched shirt stapled to a post... pretending to be a plant.”

“But on the floor he's a devil danseur with a serious case of fancy-feet.” Mitzi winks and escorts the girls to see other gentlemen.